


Aviophobia

by thatvaguelyasianchick



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Other, ish?????, my first work???, sherlock/john, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1607744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatvaguelyasianchick/pseuds/thatvaguelyasianchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is most definitely not over his aviophobia and being forced on a plane with his ever-so-comforting detective pal is not helping.</p><p>based off of backtomax's prompt: "ummmmmmm jOHN IS AFRAID OF FLYING AND SHERLOCK SPOUTS OFF FACTS THAT DOESNT HELP LIKE HOW MANY PLANES CRASH AND THE LIKELYHOOD OF THEM DYING". I kind of went a bit off topic ish, but I hope y'all like it!</p><p>EDIT: WOW, A LOT OF YOU READ THIS-- AND I LEFT SOME ERRORS IN IT. WHOOPS. I fixed the ones I could find; please tell me if you catch any others~! (AND THANKS FOR READING!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aviophobia

“It's an absurd phobia.”

 

The pair sat beside each other in the first class section of the plane (tickets were generously supplied by the detective's current client), John in the aisle seat and Sherlock taking the window.

 

John released the sigh he'd been holding in since they first stepped foot on the plane. Sherlock had been quiet during the checking in process in the airport, practically _tranquil_ in the waiting area, and just when John had let his guard down he went and said that.

 

Of course Sherlock thought John's aviophobia was absurd, _of course._ Why was he surprised? Why did he even let himself get offended? His eyes purposefully averted the sight of his friend, looking down to his own hands that clutched the arm rests with white knuckles.

 

“Yes, okay, thank you for that.” He breathed heavily through his nose in some sort of attempt to calm himself. The sound of the engine was driving him crazy. The constant hum had repeated and repeated since the moment they boarded. He didn't think he could stand it, he _had_ to leave plane before it took off. His hand reached for his seat belt buckle almost instinctively, but the motion was halted to a stop at another interjection of the detective beside him.

 

“I mean really-- What's there to fear?” Sherlock seemed to be talking more out loud than to John, but John still listened, sitting back in his seat to hear what sort of insensitive thing his friend could say about this.

 

“Statistically speaking, the odds of us crashing are about 1 in 500,000. Or in laymen terms, as likely as being struck by lightening while being attacked by a shark.” John rolled his eyes.

 

“Is that true?”

 

“Yes, of course it's true.” Sherlock turned to face him now, an expression that read 'how could you ever think I was wrong?' clear on his face. John refrained from punching the smugness off his face.

 

“Although, there are several things that could go wrong on an airplane as well... 50% of all plane crashes _are_ caused by pilot error-- and I've deduced quite a few things about ours just by glancing around--”

 

“Sherlock.”

 

“Firstly, he has a drinking problem---”

 

“You haven't even _seen_ him—”

 

“Let me finish.”

 

“ _Let me finish._ ” John mimicked.

 

“That was a terrible impersonation.” Sherlock retorted. John opened his mouth to retaliate, but Sherlock was too quick to interrupt, “Anyways-- He has a drinking problem, acute social anxiety, and is a slight mysognist.”

 

John remained quiet for a moment, angrily staring at the detective. A silence filled the space between them, accompanied with the sound of shuffling passengers and the ever present _humming_ of the engine. This reminded him of his original objective; getting off the plane. Yet again, he reached for his seat belt clip.

 

“I'm sure you want to know how I know this.” John halted, sighing, then ever-so-slowly turning back around in his seat to face his friend.

 

“Oh, I'm sure _you_ want me to know.”

 

“Yes, because I've deduced that you want to know.”

 

“Oh my god.” John cradled his head in his hand that was propped up by the small arm rest facing the aisle side of the row, sighing slightly. Sherlock waited patiently. Just when John sensed he was about to speak anyways, the sounds of a sudden chirp of the intercom followed by the cheery voice of a flight attendance echoed throughout the plane, jolting John back to reality. Right; he was on a plane, one that he needed to escape from. Before they went into the air.

 

For the final time, he reached for his buckle, but this time accidentally meeting eyes with his friend. He looked... Peculiar. Worried perhaps? No, Sherlock Holmes the world's only consulting detective didn't worry about a thing. At that moment John realized that he'd been avoiding prolonging his gaze since they boarded the plane, too concerned with his own fear. Did he look like that the whole time they were waiting?

 

“We're not going to crash, John.” His voice was slow. Unusually so. John blinked in succession for a moment, his mouth hanging open and his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

 

“Are you trying to comfort me?”

 

“I'm stating a fact.” He said matter-of-factly, finally breaking the gaze to look at the screen showing the instructional video on how to buckle a seat belt properly.

 

John stammered a moment, beginning to form some sort of argumentative reply, but was quickly shushed by a very firm stewardess.

 

The video ended, and the plane began to move down the run way. It was too late to leave now. He was going to be sick. As if sensing this, Sherlock silently handed him the nausea bag that was tucked in the small basket behind the seats in front of them.

 

“... Thank you.” he muttered, clutching the bag between his hands, though not actually expecting to use it.

 

The plane was lifting off the ground now. John closed his eyes, trying to find some other sound to focus on that _wasn't_ the whirring engine. Sherlock leaned slightly into his range of hearing, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the sound,

 

“You still want me to tell you how I deduced those things, yes?”

 

Well. John sighed, opening his eyes to roll quickly up to the ceiling, then to glance over the the almost enthusiastic detective. Better than nothing.

 


End file.
